


Tragers

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Series: Live a Little [8]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Child Funerals, Death Personification, Drug Abuse, Father/Daughter Incest, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Starving, Minor Blackouts, Multi, Self-harming, underage drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7250434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tig's a little fucked up in the head - common knowledge,</p>
<p>It's because he comes from a family of psychopaths - uncommon knowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is an EXTREMELY dark story to fit Tig's EXTREMELY dark background. There are things in here that I advise against reading. It does speak of how Luann and Otto got Perseus and Pandora however, so I'll do a brief rundown in the next chapter. Tread with EXTREME caution.
> 
> AN's: OKAY, I hope everyone is ready for what I’m about to lay on them. 
> 
> So, I was writing this story and I wanted to play more with our fave younger characters as infants/toddlers before we moved onto the parts of the story where I’m able to write from their points of view because they’re preteens/teens/young adults. So I looked at the timeline, basically gave Kurt Sutter and HIS timeline a giant middle finger (just kidding btw, I love Sutter to pieces) and decided to do as follows:
> 
> In Canon, Opie and Jax have a two year age difference - Opie being two years older than Jax. As adults, you don’t notice it, because as adults - you don’t care about that type of stuff. But writing them as kids, I realized - if Jax is three, that makes Opie five. He won’t want to play with Jax - he’ll see him as a big baby. So I took a year off their age difference - now they’re a year apart, yay! (I also went back to Holy Matrimony & Beautiful Girls and got rid of the parts where it mentions Mary being knocked up/Piney having a newborn). 
> 
> In Canon, Jax and Thomas have a SIX YEAR age difference. And me, being the pouty baby author that I am, didn’t want to give up baby Jackson in exchange for baby Thomas. So, I cut that difference in half - now, they only have a three year age difference. While Thomas is a baby, Jax is still a toddler. Yay, I get my way!
> 
> I also made Dawn & Fawn only a year younger than Jax instead of two years younger than him. So that they're closer in age and less awkward.
> 
> ALSO (because I don’t think I mention it) Gemma and Luann got pregnant around the same time in this story. So Thomas and Atlas are born in the same month (I kept Thomas’ canon birthday, January 8th. And made it so that Atlas was born two weeks later. January 29th). Again, just for bonding purposes between Gemma and Luann.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry if the changes are confusing, and if anything doesn’t make sense, leave it below - I’ll try to explain better. Hope you enjoy the first dark installment of Live a Little.

**Alexander ‘Tig’ Trager** **  
** **_Part I_ **

It’s the day after the girls’ second birthday party and the Trager household is still covered in brightly colored silly string, streamers, confetti and glitter. The ‘Happy Birthday’ banner that Jackson and Opie spent  _ hours  _ helping to color dangles loosely from over the hallway arch, and pink and blue balloons are still floating around at the ceiling - after having accidentally been released by a grabby baby Thomas. A half-eaten princess cake is wrapped and resting at the center of a icing covered table, and there’s an abundance of crumbs on the floor and table from the burgers, hotdogs, and chips that had been the menu for the party. 

The birthday party had quickly turned into a sleepover amongst the children. After they had stuffed their bellies on cake and ice cream, and exhausted themselves on the trampoline, it had been an easy lights out. Thomas and Atlas had fallen asleep first, settled into the girls’ old cribs for the night. Followed by Fawn, Opie, Jackson and lastly Dawn - the girls’ guests in sleeping bags that they’d had the forethought to lug over. And so the adults had simply decided to stay the night as well - it’d been awhile since they’d had the time to get together without the kids bugging them. They enjoy a glass of wine, play with the helium from the balloons, and then find various places to crash as well. And they awake early enough the next morning to begin cleaning up the mess that the kids and their out-of-the-club playmates had left behind.

They’ve just begun cleaning when someone’s fist raps harshly at the front door - practically banging the door down. Tig, Clay, Otto and Piney - all of which of whom just begun to take the balloons down from the ceiling - exchange nervous glances, and immediately the balloons are released back to their place. Their hands go to the back of their waistband and they draw their pistols - ready to shoot anyone come to potentially harm or separate them from their family.

Moments like these are when the Reaper on Tig’s back comes back to haunt him - whispering in his ear and taunting him with his stiff elongated fingers. On the count of three, the younger man leans forward and swings open the front door - immediately training his gun on the figures standing there.

He’s surprised to find that they’re not Mayans or Nords - come to take a low blow and hurt one of his girls. They’re not law either - Unser and his henchmen haven’t arrived to make another ambiguous arrest that keeps him in holding for a night or two. Nor do they look like any other enemy they may have made over the years - in fact, they’re not potential foes at all. 

Tig is too shocked to gesture to his brothers to lower their weapons, but his lowers slowly out of genuine surprise. His jaw goes slack, his eyes widen to the size of tea saucers. He thought he’d put them in his past.  _ All  _ of them.

Tan skin. Long limbs. Shining azure eyes. Curly black hair. It was like staring in a gender-bending mirror. 

“What are you two doing here?” he asks, unable to hide the hostility in his tone. He had tried to erase his childhood from his present - putting his past to rest forever. He wanted a future for all of his girls - Dawn, Fawn and Colleen. Two of his younger sisters suddenly popping up out of the blue wasn’t helping the cause. “How’d you find this address?”

“You have a felonious record - your address was on your parole officer’s paperwork. He doesn’t seem to like you very much - he gave it to us without much of a fight,” the older one says, fidgeting with her hands and averting her eyes. Tig remembers her as being joyous, comedic, and radiant in childhood - he recalls her bringing a bit of happiness and laughter to their dismal living situations in the past. He sees none of that in her at the moment - she looks like a shell of her former self. Empty, but if he  _ had  _ to place an emotion, he’d say melancholy. “Can we come in? It’s important.”

Tig turns back to his brothers, all of which still have their guns aimed at the two girls. Both of his sisters stare the weapons down - as if the prospect of being shot on sight no longer scares them. He doesn’t need to wonder how many times they’ve stared down the barrel of a gun, or been on the very brink of eating a bullet. He’d been there when his mother and father had gotten them into those messes - been the one to sweet talk them out.

He gestures for the SAMCRO members to put their pistols away and does the same for himself - flicking the safety back on and tucking the gun into the back of his waistband. For now, he wouldn’t shoot the girls dead on his doorstep. But if this was some sort of trick his father was pulling, he’d murder them all in cold blood. Every last Trager, right down to the little ones - who wouldn’t be so little anymore. No one was putting the hurt on his family.

“You’re not staying long,” he reluctantly concedes, beckoning them inside the house. As previously mentioned, he didn’t want them anywhere within a hundred mile radius of his daughters, his wife or his friends. But he’s willing to hear them out - if they went to the trouble of finding his parole officer, whatever they wanted must be dire. Even if it wasn’t - he could kill a few moments. The Club was taking a break - most members were out of town for the summer, there was no immediate Club business to attend to. He had the time to waste.

“We don’t plan to,” the younger sister snarls, pushing past him. Both of the girls slip through the hallway, and he follows them back to the living area. He follows at their heels - making sure that their hands don’t wander past themselves, and that nothing from his house would suddenly go missing. He wouldn’t think they’d be the ones to ruin his life, but Tig wouldn’t put them above thieving.

Walking behind them, he can’t help but notice how sickly they look. Both girls wear a pair of jean shorts that stop right below the arse, a thin cotton tank top, sparkly jeweled sandals and a bag around their shoulder. He guesses the choice of clothing is to combat the heat, but that’s not what has him furrowing his brow. He’d seen Colleen, Gemma and Luann wear similar outfits, and he can tell something is amiss. The shorts aren’t tight on their bottoms like they’re designed to be, and the tank tops don’t hug their breasts either. It seems as if the clothes dangle off of the girls bodies - as if the girls themselves are hangars.

He realizes it’s because they’re extremely thin. As if they’d been starved for almost weeks on end before eating something. 

Both girls plop down in the couch still covered with sticky silly string and Tig settles in the armchair diagonal from them - still examining their tiny frames. By now, the women have come to see what was holding up their husbands, so they too join the group in the living room. They stop in their tracks at the sight of the two girls, and immediately put up protective defenses. Crossed arms, scowls - the works of old lady hazing.

Tig’s friends find varying spots around the living room - Clay pressed against the wall with his arm wrapped protectively around Gemma’s shoulders, Piney perched on the arm of the couch and Mary’s hands resting assuringly on his shoulder’s, Otto sitting reverse cowgirl on a dining room chair with Luann sitting on the floor in front of him. Colleen rests on the arm of Tig’s chair and takes his hand comfortingly in hers. They’re all focused on the two girls - waiting to see who they are and what’s so important.

“Who are these chicks, Tig?” Clay asks, his voice gruff and harsh. Tig was his best friend and had been so for a very long time. But if he was going to bring heat to the Club’s doorstep, he needed to be informed as soon as possible. Mysterious girls knocking on doors and spewing nonsense about urgent matters was definitely something he should be kept informed on. 

“They’re my sisters,” he replies, his tone unenthusiastic. He gestures to the older one - the one that had been doing the most talking. “That’s Victoria. The other one is Charlotte.”

“Alex, you need to come back to Sacramento. There’s been an accident,” Victoria explains, after greeting her brother’s friends. She seems to be the one with her head screwed on straight - so far, her tone had been polite and she had been clear about their intentions. “It’s urgent, and we’re reluctant move forward without you. Of course, if you don’t want to, we’ll have no choice and we’re not going to force you.”

Tig can feel the Reaper’s bony fingers tickling at the nape of his neck - the tips of the bone running down his skin, catching a drop of sweat before it soak through the collar of his shirt. His stomach flips at the words ‘accident’ and ‘urgent’, and he subconsciously leans forward in his seat - away from the Reapers light touch - clasping Colleen’s hand in his. She gives him a reassuring squeeze, and he looks up at her with a small, sad smile. 

“What kind of accident?” he asks, after a missed beat. Victoria begins to fidget in her seat - her hands immediately go to the brown fringe satchel slung across her shoulder. She toys with the strap on the bag, running it between her hands in rapid succession. “Victoria?

She peers up at her brother eventually, and there are tears brimming in her crystal blue orbs. She turns to look at Charlotte, of whom puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder and nods. Victoria blinks a few times, and tears spill out of her eyes and over her cheeks, running her mascara.

“Nicholas’ meth lab exploded a few days ago, although I don’t recall all the details - I was in a shock when the police informed me,” she exhales eventually, with a small shudder. “Nicholas, Tracy, Alexis, Randall, and Jonathan are all dead. Alexis, Randall and our parents died from the fire but toxicology reports say Jonathan died from methamphetamine overdose and that he was dead long before the explosion. We believe that dad was testing his new concoction on him - it was supposed to make the high last longer.”

The Reaper places both skeletal hands on his shoulders and it feels as if the air leaves Tig’s lungs. It’s breath puffs on the back of his neck and snakes around to fill his nostrils - the smell of charred flesh and rotted corpse making him nauseous. For a moment, the world drops out of view and it’s just him and Mr. Mayhem - staring each other down, a ten-pace gunfight. He can hear his father’s drunken slurs faintly, tucked underneath his little brothers’ laughter, his sisters giggles and his mother’s loud cursing. It distracts. His hand slips. He’s too late.

The Reaper wins the duel.

Tig exhales sharply and snatches his hand away from Colleen - burying his face in his hands instead. He feels a sharp pain in his nose that indicates he’s about cry, and his temple begins to pound. Alexis, Randall and Jonathan. They were the youngest - the last of the Trager kids. It had been ten years since he had seen them, so that would put them at seventeen, fourteen and twelve this year. A senior and a freshman in high school and a sixth grader, and his father had already been putting them to work in a meth lab. Using his youngest as a fucking  _ guinea pig _ .

It had costed them their lives. Lives that they had yet to even begin.

He was able to recall so many memories about the three of them. Johnny was only two when he fled, but he still had memories with him. He remembered changing his diapers as a baby, staying up late with his little brother cradled in the crook of his arm and his textbooks splayed in his lap, giving him baths and playing in the suds. He remembered Johnny was the happy baby - he was the Trager savior. Tig can only imagine what he’d been like the day he died - strung out, loopy, dazed out of his mind. Like Victoria, a shell of his former self.

He remembered Randall too. Randall was an angry toddler. He threw temper tantrums often, and it was more often than not that Alex was forced to watch him take a beating from his father. By the time he sent Randy to his first day of kindergarten, he was known for kicking, biting, hitting and scratching whenever he didn’t get his way. But he had good moments too. When he wasn’t having a fit, he was sweet and he loved coloring, drawing, or painting. Tig still had some of the pictures he’d colored for him as a kid - he’d stuffed them at the bottom of his bag when he ran.

And Alexis - or, better known as Lexi. She was the apple of their mother’s eye - the only child that could get the woman out of her stupor for more than a handful of minutes. She was funny, she was kind, she was gentle. She was the perfect epitome of what a ‘disney princess’ should be, and that’s what she always said she wanted to be when she grew up. She wanted to be Aurora, and wear glittery pink dresses. Lexi loved her pink and her glitter. 

But those kids were dead. The kid that he had been in the midst of raising. The two bright kids that had always been so excited to show off to him. They were gone forever and he would never be able to say goodbye.

“Baby,” Colleen whispers, bringing him back to Earth. He’d been staring blankly off into space and listening to Victoria rattle off the autopsy reports - allowing tears to roll down his face as he stood in the middle of the carpet. He doesn’t even know how he got there. She cups his face and holds him still, making sure that he’s staring in her eyes. Hers are glassy as well and brimmed with tears. She was aching for him too. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t imagine how awful this is. I’m sorry.”

He bobs his head numbly and she slowly pull him down for a tight embrace. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder and finally releases the pent up emotions and thoughts. Tig sobs uncontrollably, the shudders raking through him in waves. Slowly, they sink to their knees in the carpet and his wife holds him there.

There’s a solemn silence all around as his closest friends - the people he’d considered his brothers and sisters for a long while - and his sisters watch him fall apart at the very seams. They give him the time he needs to process the news - all the while processing it for themselves. 

After a few minutes of choked sobs, Tig finally pulls away from his wife and turns back to Victoria and Charlotte. Victoria has long since wiped away her tears and is attempting to keep her cheeks dry and remain strong for both her brother and sister. She was like that when they were younger as well - always trying to be strong for the little ones, trying to hold on because the younger kids didn’t know how to.

There are a few tears pouring down Charlotte’s cheeks, but a scowl curls her lips down and betrays the sadness in her eyes. 

“What can I do?” asks Tig, after taking several deep breaths. It’s taking him a long while to recollect himself - the loss of his parents is meaningless to him, but of the three innocent souls? Especially considered he’d practically raised them up until he ran away - they’re basically his children. He basically just lost three of his children. “I want to help - I mean,  _ anything _ .”

“Here, here,” Clay and Otto chorus behind him. He turns to give them a nod of appreciation, and is shocked to find that even  _ they  _ have glassy eyes. Otto clears his throat and nods towards Victoria and Charlotte. “Whatever you need. Food, money, somewhere to sleep, whatever. We can help you.”

“All expenses have been paid for - they made a bunch of expensive,  _ illegal  _ connections in their lifetime. We had mom and dad’s funeral last week - I didn’t want you there, I had no idea how you would act,” Victoria explains, sitting forward on the couch. Her hair falls into her face, so she tucks a few strands behind her ear, and everyone in the room gets a glimpse of a series of scars on her inner-wrist. “We’re having the kids’ funerals this weekend. There’ll be no viewing of the body - with the explosion and the fire… there’s not much to view that wouldn’t scar some folks. Lexi’s funeral is on Thursday, Randy’s is on Friday, Johnny’s is on Saturday and then we’re doing a family bonfire to celebrate their lives on Sunday. All we ask, is that you come to pay your respects and participate in the bonfire.”

“I want to do more,” Tig repeats, feeling as though he’s running on autopilot. “How can I help?”

Charlotte chooses this moment to finally speak up. She’d been stewing in her wrath for the entire time that she and her sister had been there, and the break her brother had made in the conversation was her opening to make her voice known.

“You had your chance to help years ago and you  _ blew  _ it!” she snaps finally. Victoria tries to chastise her, but Charlotte insists. “No, no, Tori. Let him hear this. After you ran away, Tori took the impact of Nick’s wrath - and he was  _ pissed _ , too. ‘Cause you were his best dealer. So she let him  _ beat  _ her. She let him  _ rape  _ her. She let him do whatever he wanted because she was just optimistic that  _ you  _ got out. Nick tortured her for  _ years  _ after you ran off - and there was nothing we could do to help, because we didn’t know where you had gotten off to. We had no information to give him, so we sat there and listened to her scream! Listened to her cry! For years!” 

Charlotte’s crying heavily now, steady streams of tears trailing down her cheeks and leaving a path of muddied eyeliner and mascara. With each word, Tig feels another stab of guilt in his chest - he slowly realizes that he did, in fact, kill his younger sisters. And harm his little sister as well.

“Then Nick got tougher with  _ us _ . He chained us up sometimes, you know that? Sometimes he didn’t feed the little ones, or he would make us watch him beat them. When we didn’t meet our weekly dealing quota, we didn’t eat, or shower, or use the toilet for a week. He beat me so hard one day that we told the emergency room ladies I got hit by a car and they  _ believed  _ it. Victoria got  _ pregnant three times _ , and he never showed her mercy! After Johnny turned five, we never saw him again. He reported him missing to the police, but Lexi told us. She was the only one allowed in the trailer. Nick was testing out drugs on him like some fucking guinea pig! Tracy just got drunk and pimped herself out - she was never there for us. She just sat back, popped out more baby dealers, ignored our screams for her. We  _ needed  _ you. We  _ cried  _ for you. All we ever wanted was for you to come back and make it better again. You always knew how to make him stop and go away. You just weren’t there.”

The young girl barks out a bitter laugh, and Victoria desperately tries to get her to stop talking - tugging on her arm and murmuring things that only Charlotte can hear. A part of Tig wants his younger sister to stop talking too - he never wanted any of his friends to hear what his family life had truly been, of why he’d really run away to the Marines so young. It was dark shit, and he didn’t want to burden any of them with that. But another part of him needs to hear  _ more  _ \- needs to know the truth of what happened after he left. He never expected Nicholas Trager to simply be hunkie dorie with him running away from home - Charlotte wasn’t lying when she said that Tig had been his father’s best dealer - but he also didn’t expect him to take it out on the kids.

“You know why the lab exploded? ‘Cause Nick was drunk and trying to show Randy the ropes. Randy, who had no role models after you left. So he looked to our meth dealing pappy as a superhero! He looked up to  _ you _ ! Admired  _ you _ ! And  _ you  _ left him behind! You left us all!”

Charlotte’s in hysterics now - she’s on her feet, laughing maniacally as tears stream down her face. It’s obvious that the years of torture endured by their father had taken their effect on her psyche, and Tig can’t help but feel an insurmountable weight of guilt. He always knew his leaving Sacramento would have its own consequence - he’d just prayed it wouldn’t bounce back to his siblings. He hadn’t seen any reason for it to come back and hit his brothers and sisters in the face.

Now, not only were three of his siblings dead, but one of them obviously had a few of her screws knocked loose, and another was hurting herself. All due to his selfishness.

“Keep your voice down,” Luann tries to scold, but it’s too late. Two separate pairs of infant-like wails come from up the stairs - mere milliseconds following Charlotte’s outburst. It can only be two children crying in such a fashion - five week old Thomas and four week old Atlas. Gemma and Luann politely excuse themselves, and the group of adults wait until the crying is completely silent before speaking again.

“I didn’t know there were little ones,” Charlotte says, her voice quieter but just as delirious. There’s a burning fury in her blue eyes that Tig isn’t accustomed to seeing - Charlotte had always been sarcastic, cynical, and a tad bit pessimistic, but she was never angry. “I’ll try and  _ control  _ myself.”

“I’ll be there for everything,” says Tig, after a long pregnant pause. His is voice meek and ashamed - two things that could never be attributed to his personality. For the first time since the age of sixteen, he’s showing a bit of humility - a bit of modesty. “I’m sorry - I didn’t know. If I had known, I would’ve done something earlier. Charlie - you have to understand that. I would’ve gotten you to a safe place. I should’ve… I’m sorry.”

He knew better than to waste time on  _ should've _ and  _ what if _ . There was  _ nothing  _ he could do about the past - but he was eager to try and fix the present.

“It’s fine,” Victoria says, grabbing Charlotte by her arm and yanking her towards the door. It’s obvious that this family reunion was over - to be continued at his youngest sister’s funeral in the following two days. “Tracy and Nick’s families want nothing to do with them. It’ll be a little empty at the funerals - amongst the nine of us, we only had a handful of outside friends. You should bring your friends along.”

“Will do,” Tig nods, suddenly feeling extremely drained. The rollercoaster of emotions that had been this visit was already taking his toll on him - the idea of even starting on cleaning his house made him grimace. He stands and follows them to the door politely. He’d let them out of his eyesight and they’d suffered from it before. He’d never forgive himself if he did it again. “I’ll see you both Thursday.”

“Yeah, here…” Victoria takes a pen from her satchel and scribbles her number onto the back of his hand. “Call me and I’ll tell you the funeral home address. I don’t know it by heart. Have a good evening Alex - sorry, about all of this.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” he sighs, looking towards his younger sister. Charlotte snorts and slips out of the house - marching towards a familiar dusty blue volkswagen with multiple dents and scratches in it. It was his father’s old car - he remembers many nights of climbing into the passenger and driving into the city, tiny baggies that couldn’t weigh more than a gram making his sweater pockets feel heavy and laden.

He looks to Victoria in hopes that she’ll take pity and validate his efforts. She seemed to be willing to try more than Charlotte was.

“We’ll see you Thursday,” Victoria says in reply, ignoring the half-assed apology altogether. She practically melts into the hug they share, and she pulls him closer to him so that she could inhale his scent. Bourbon, motor oil, and old spice. So different from the smell of soap, cheap cologne, and smoke that followed him when he was sixteen. “I’ve missed you, Alex.”

“I’ve missed you too, Tori,” he responds, hugging her just as tightly as she hugs him. He grimaces at the way he can feel her shoulder blades through the cloth of her shirt, and wonders when the last time it was that she had a full meal. 

When they pull away from the hug, there’s a renewed sense of hope in her eyes. She gives him a final hesitant smile before following Charlotte to the car. Tig watches after them until the tail lights are little red dots on the road, his eyes watering. Only a single thought is able to pass through his mind.

**_How could he have fucked up this badly?_ **


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otto gains more happiness than he bargained for.

**Otis ‘Otto’ Delaney** **_  
_ ** **_Part II_ **

Otto feels guilty for thinking it, but he can’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of relief when Sunday morning finally comes around. 

It’s not Tig’s fault that he feels this way, either. In fact, it’s not anyone’s fault that he feels this way. But he and Luann had been talking to Charlotte - who had fallen in love with Atlas as soon as she saw him in his carrier - a lot over the past three days that they’d been there, and they’d heard things from her that had made their stomachs twist and their hearts contract. Otto couldn’t stand seeing these children - who were grown now, adults - that were forced into a world of misery by two people who took for granted the beauty of life. 

Meanwhile, he and Luann will never have another child of their own again. They’d both been thrilled when they found out Luann was pregnant - Otto more so than Luann - and they hadn’t known about the complications with her uterus.

What Otto didn’t know was, when Luann was working for the porn company in New Jersey, she was forced to do a lot of videos where the male actors didn’t wear condoms. It was what that particular underground company was known for - not forcing their actors to have protection, giving the viewers the thrill of risk. She did birth control, but it didn’t always work the way she planned and she wound up getting pregnant  _ five  _ times. 

Her director forced her to get an abortion each time - Luann was a high-paying actress, he couldn’t afford to wait for her to have a baby. At the time, she didn’t mind - she didn’t want kids anyways, she could barely support herself. But the abortions were done in a sketchy apartment, and the retired ‘doctor’ that had done them, had botched up her uterus pretty bad.

Her doctors were surprised she’d even managed to get pregnant, and that Atlas was so far - doing well. She managed to get through the pregnancy without any hiccups - nothing that could cause red flags. It was when she gave birth that was the problem. It was extremely hard for Luann to have their son - and the doctors noticed it was taking quite awhile for her to give birth. And it wasn’t Atlas - he was a perfectly healthy baby, besides being a little smaller than what was normal. It Luann herself - as Atlas was leaving her womb, it seemed as if he was dragging her uterus with him. They had to perform a hysterectomy to get both Luann and their son out of the delivery room alive.

They couldn’t even try to have children again. Of course, they were elated that Atlas was healthy and alive. He ate well, he slept well, he rarely cried, - he didn’t have any illnesses, he wasn’t a problematic baby. He was their little miracle baby. But they were also depressed - during the early pregnancy, Luann had decided that since the baby she was having at the time was going to slow down her work anyways, her and Otto might as well work on starting their family. They had gotten this new house with all of these bedrooms - Luann’s cap was three, but Otto was positive he could convince her to have a fourth child. 

They had so many big, bright plans crushed because of a few teenage mistakes.

So being around the Trager children, and hearing what they’d endured - hearing that the only reason their parents had children in the first place was because Nicholas needed new drug dealers… it was starting to take a toll on Otto. He was exhausted. He just wanted to go home, and put Tig’s history where it belonged - in the past. 

The Bonfire wasn’t to be held until the sun had set - Tig had said something about it being in the tradition - so Otto and Luann don’t start getting ready until five. They shower together while Atlas naps - something they did often, an innocent act most times - and Otto doesn’t even notice the sad expression on her face until he’s pulling on his jeans.

Luann’s bent over the crib that Victoria had loaned them, and he can hear her singing softly. She didn’t sing often - not even to Atlas. Luann sang as a means to try and cheer herself up - and judging by the solemnity of the lyrics, she wasn’t doing a good job.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Otto asks, reaching for his shirt.

Luann doesn’t turn around when - with a hoarse voice tainted with tears - she replies, “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen, what?”

“Fifteen  _ children _ , Otto,” Luann whispers, running a finger down a sleeping Atlas’ cheek. She bends over to press a kiss to their sons head before turning and grabbing her sundress from the edge of the bed. “Nicholas and Theresa had fifteen children in their lifetime. Ten of them are live today, one of them was a stillborn, one of them suffered from Lou-Gehrig disease, and three of them were murdered. Nick and Tracy had fifteen chances to fix their mistakes and they fucked it up each time. We only have one. What if we let him down?”

“Lu, stop thinking like that,” Otto sighs, pulling her into his arms. “We’re not letting him down - we’re nowhere near comparable to Nick and Tracy Trager. ‘Cause we love Atlas, and we’d lay our lives on the line if it meant saving his. Trust me, Lu, I’m doing everything in my power to give him the  _ best life _ possible.”

Sometimes Otto did question Clay, and gun-running. Sometimes, when he sat back and thought of the grand scheme of things - getting arrested or killed running illegal guns was not the direction he wanted his life to go in. But it was questions like these - questions that centered around his wife and son - that enforced the absolute trust he put in his MC’s President. Otto was making money. And the money he was making, but his wife up in a fancy five bedroom, four full bathroom, two half bathroom, pool and hot tub type of house.

“Yeah, but… what you’re doing is illegal, too. What if you get arrested, and he doesn’t have a father growing up? That’s not the best life possible, Otto,” she insists, sniffling. Luann pulls away from him to slip into her dress, and when he tries to pull her back, she shrugs off his touch. Slowly, Luann begins to brush her blonde locks of hair, and she stares at his reflection in the mirror. “When Gemma and I were in the hospital together, I wasn’t allowed to see Atlas yet. So instead, I wheeled her down to see Thomas. And while she was watching him through the glass, she told me, ‘I just want my sons to approve of me’. I didn’t understand what she meant until today.”

His wife gives a sad laugh before continuing with, “As a kid, you just want your parents to be proud of you. And as a parent, it’s reversed. All I want is for Atlas to be proud of who his family is. I don’t want him to be like Gemma - us not being satisfied with how he turned out and him being too scared to try and mend old fences. Or like me - him never seeing us, not even his cousins for years on end. Or like Tig - his life with us being so traumatizing that he can’t stand the idea of us going anywhere near him. I don’t want to be like the Tragers - I don’t want to fuck my son over. I want Atlas to  _ want  _ to come home when he’s older.”

“And he will,” Otto assures, although it’s hard to speak around the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

Luann turns to look at her husband, one of those melancholy smiles gracing her lips. “But baby, that’s just one thing in the world you  _ can’t  _ promise me.”

And he can fight her all he wants, but Otto knows she’s right.

\--

Otto takes his bike to the beach where they’re having the bonfire, but he still doesn’t let Luann out of sight. The trio of bikes leads a sort of processional for their wives cars - Clay taking the lead, followed by Gemma’s cadillac, Luann’s convertible, and Collen’s pick-up truck. Tig and Otto ride side by side behind them - a routine that they’ve fallen into for whenever they have family outings like this. None of the girls’ cars could fit all three women, both the carseats for the babies, and all three booster seats for the toddlers, so they always wound up taking their own cars places. Sometimes it looked a bit like a funeral processional to outsiders, and they’d been told that by Charming residents more than once.

When they park in the manmade beaches parking lot, Otto is surprised to find that the two new youngest Trager siblings, Jordan - who was twenty-one - and Benjamin - who was nineteen - are waiting for them by their car. 

Many things about the scene of the two boys surprises him. The fact that a girl that looks to be in her early twenties waits beside Jordan, with a one-year-old child on her hip. Or the fact that Jordan even has a car in the first place - considering the dangers that Nicholas must’ve known he’d be facing when he got him a car, because it was damn sure that the kid hadn’t gotten a car of his own in the nine days of freedom he’d had. 

As soon as Tig has dismounted from his bike, Jordan, Benjamin and the girl stride over to him. Otto lingers by his bike warily - adjusting his helmet on the back, cleaning his riding glasses. He tries to kill time so that he could watch his brother’s back.

“We’ve been waiting forever - everyone came early except for you,” Benjamin teases, slugging Tig in the shoulder. “Jordan thought it’d be best if we gave you a little bit of warning, before you go down there.”   


“Yeah?” Tig asks, tugging his riding gloves off. Jordan looks to what Otto guesses is his girlfriend and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before turning back to his brother.

“After about six years of serious violence towards us, Nick eventually let up. He forgot what he was punishing us for. We got a little bit more freedom - we still had to work of course, but we could have days off, too. And when the girls got pregnant by their boyfriends, Nick was… he wasn’t mean about it. We think he truly did love his grandchildren, or something. So some of us have families - we met people, we fell in love. But Victoria…”

Jordan trails off with a disgusted look on his face, so Benjamin picks up where he left off. “Victoria wasn’t just raped by dad. He had his ‘friends’ rape her too - he liked to give her away as a thank you gift, of sorts. Eventually, she did meet someone and fall in love with them, and apparently they’re planning to have a kid. But, for her first two children - she doesn’t know who their father is.”

There it is again - that twinge of fury that Otto got whenever the kids spoke of what they endured in that household. It seemed as if happiness seemed to constantly evade him whenever the Trager squad was around.

“We’re just warning you - so you wouldn’t be surprised when you saw how different they looked,” Jordan sighs. Then, turning to the woman tucked under his arm, he grins. “On a brighter note, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend - Jessica. And our son, Shiraz.”

“You named your son after a wine,” Otto chuckles in amusement, finally relaxing his muscles. Now that he knew there wouldn’t be an altercation, he could stand down. He steps away from his bike and turns to find the girls waiting patiently with the kids, watching the exchange. It was obvious they’d come in when Benjamin was telling Tig about Victoria - he can still read the disgust on their face. 

“What’s your kid’s name?” Jordan asks with a sly smirk, when Otto turns to take Atlas from his carrier. The infant gurgles and laughs at the sight of his father, before sticking his tiny fist in his mouth and grinning broadly.

“Atlas. Like the greek god that held the world on his shoulders,” Otto explains, placing a towel over his shoulder and then resting the baby there. “‘Cause you know, Atlas was seen as an honorable man due to his obligation to the mortals.”

“Shiraz sounds way cooler,” Jordan harrumphs, taking his own son from Jessica. “and you sound like Victoria with the greek god shit. All of her kids are named after someone involved with Mount Olympus.”

“Speaking of kids - lets get going. I’m excited to meet the little ones, and for them to meet my girls,” Tig says. Jordan grins at him and tugs him along - there’s an extremely broad stairway that leads from the elevated parking lot to the beach below, and the toddlers have fun making a race out of them. 

Of course, they struggle tremendously - they all have stubby legs, and it’s a struggle for them to get down the stairs without having to crawl. Clay hurries ahead to make sure that none of them topple over or fall down the stairs, and for a bit, Otto lightens up. It’s hilarious to watch their President chase after Jackson, Dawn and Fawn - all three children split up, and it’s a wide staircase, so he has to run after them - and the conversation amongst the adults has picked up into something light. They’re sharing feeding stories - it’s mostly the women talking, with the men adding their occasional input.

Eventually, they reach the beach and Clay is able to wrangle up the toddlers. He returns to the group with Dawn and Fawn on each hip, and Jackson riding his shoulder’s. For a split second, looking at him, Otto gets a twinge of sadness. But it’s gone before he can think about it - they’ve arrived to the spot of the bonfire. Morgan - the only other Trager boy besides Benjamin, Jordan and Tig - is teasing the flames with a metal poker, and grinning at something a girl around Jackson’s age is babbling about.

Jordan whistles loudly when they get closer to the fire, and the various Tragers look up from what they were doing. Everyone’s face - except Charlotte’s - lights up when they spot the new arrivals, and Otto, Tig, Clay, Jordan, Benjamin, Colleen and the toddlers jog the rest of the way over. Luann, Gemma and Jessica hang behind with the babies, so they take a little longer to catch up.

The bonfire had obviously been set up with the idea that there would be babies and toddlers around. Of course, a bonfire isn’t truly a bonfire without logs to sit on, but it would’ve been difficult to change or feed a baby on a log. So the logs had been pushed further back, and quilts had been laid out in front of them. Thick, soft, patchwork quilts too - not thin sheets or scratchy blankets. In front of some of the logs, there are assorted baby bags or children’s backpacks - with toys spilled out onto the quilt. That’s how Otto knows that Jordan’s timeline fits - made sense that as soon as they were allowed an inch of freedom, those kids would rush into starting families of their own. They had something to prove - that they weren’t like their parents, that they were better than their parents. They could  _ be  _ better parents.

It takes awhile for everyone to get settled, but once they are, Victoria stands to give the ceremony. She begins the opening of the ceremony speech - Tig says that the eldest sibling was supposed to lead the ritual, but he’d long since forgotten the traditional rites.

Otto sits on the blanket next to Luann and listens to Victoria give the ceremonial speech - and for the first time, he feels warmth around him. The point of the bonfire was to celebrate the lives of their siblings, and not mourn their deaths - and the words that Victoria speaks are rich for the soul. They send waves of amiability through his body.

Luann curls up to Otto with her head on his shoulder, occasionally reaching across to rock Atlas in his carrier. He hadn’t even noticed that the infant had fallen asleep, but he’s suckling slowly on his pacifer and his small fists have loosened up.

Once Victoria finishes the ceremonial speech, she begins the ceremony itself.

“Charlotte, Riley, Morgan - present me with the tokens?” Victoria asks, her voice honey sweet. Charlotte nods her head and steps up to offer the first item of memorabilia - Alexis’ diary. Victoria passes it around the circle, and indicates for them to follow Jordan’s lead. He takes the diary, presses a tender kiss against it, and then passes it to Benjamin - who does the same. They repeat this in an awkward half-circle - since Gemma is the last one, she has to get up and return it to Morgan to continue the circle. When it reaches Victoria again, she presses her lips against it and holds it close to her heart before tossing it into the fire.

The next item of memorabilia - Randall’s lucky miniature stuffed clover. Benjamin explains that he’d forgotten it at home the day of the explosion. It’s passed around - kissed, just like the diary - and then tossed into the fire. The last item is Jonathan’s old teddy bear. Otto is told that it had actually been a family heirloom for a long while - first given to Tig by their grandparents, and then passed down the line. Jonathan was the last child to have it - from what Benjamin tells him, he still slept with it, even the night before he died.

Once all the items have disintegrated into ash, everyone claps, cheers and hollers for joy. Everyone except for the children - who just clap because they see their parents, uncles and aunts clapping. Now, with the Kindling of the Soul ceremonies are over, they don’t have to sit in such a formal half-circle in front of the fire - and since there are only a handful of people in attendance, it’ll be easy to huddle close to the fire and not be cramped in a tight circle. 

As soon as the toys, backpacks and baby bags are picked up, Otto helps the guys move the logs and blankets around in a way that’s closer and more intimate. When they’re finished, the semicircle has closed into a more of an oval - with a few stray logs set in front of the fire so that they could complete their goal. All of the patchwork quilts had been laid out in the center of the oval - some of them had overlapped - and so the children could play comfortably under the watchful eyes of their parents.

Otto settles back down on a log, and Luann sits cross legged on the quilt in front of him. She takes Atlas - who is surprisingly, still asleep - out of his carseat and lays him on the soft quilt, and the baby seems to enjoy sleeping there much more than he did his carseat. She sets the carseat behind the log Otto’s sitting on, along with Atlas’ baby bag.

“You know what?” a booming voice says. Everyone’s head swivels to see Riley - the third oldest Trager girl - sitting next to an Arabian man that is reasonably older than she is. Maybe about twice her age. Sitting with them are three children - the oldest seeming to be around five or six. Otto knows that Riley is just twenty-three - because she’s four years younger than Tig - so that would mean she first got pregnant when she was seventeen. “I’m seeing a lot of fresh faces, and a lot of new kiddos. We should go around - introduce ourselves and our children.”

“Let’s make it fun and cute,” Riley adds, her voice bubbly. “If you’re a Trager, add what you’re going to do with your life after tonight. If you’re not, you can tell us whatever you want about yourself.”

There are murmurs of assent around the oval, and Riley claps her hands together excitedly. It’s obvious that she was a bubbly person, and Otto wonders what that kind of personality in a dark environment would’ve been like. “Okay, I guess I’ll go first. For those that don’t know, my name is Riley and this is my boyfriend - Ibrahim. This is our son, Sorrel, who is six. Our daughter, Sahara, who’s three. And our other daughter, Sadi, who’s two.”

All three children look more like their father than their mother. They have his thick dark hair and his cocoa colored skin. The only attribute that testifies to their Trager background are the electric blue eyes that glisten in the glow of the flames. Otherwise, they look completely unrelated to their mother. 

“After tonight,” continues Riley, reaching forward to stack a few of Sadi’s blocks. The toddler claps at her mother’s action, and rearranges the blocks to her taste. “Ibrahim and I are going back to his house. He lives in a townhouse in Stanford where he’s a professor at the college. We’re hoping to be a normal family, finally. Your turn Charlie.”

Charlotte - who up until now, had been quietly humming to an infant in a car seat similar to the one Atlas has, however, hers is pink and noticeably reused - looks up. Her eyes scan the group, and when they land on Otto and Luann, she gives a tiny smile.

“This is Lexi’s daughter - Esalia. She’s eight months old,” explains Charlotte, reaching inside the car seat. “When Alexis got pregnant by a kid from school, he bailed on her. He was a football superstar with a full-ride scholarship to an Ivy League school - he couldn’t afford a baby to hold him back. When she started dealing, she was the only one that had the foresight to get a will - even though she was underage. If something was to happen to her, I’d get full custody of Esalia. I gotta raise her now.”

There’s a solemn silence after Charlotte’s admission, and all of the adults exchange saddened looks around the oval before Charlotte clears her throat.

“After tonight, I’m taking my niece to Seattle, Washington. Dad let up around the time I graduated high school, so I’ve been taking online college courses since I graduated high school. I have an associate’s in Nursing, and yesterday I learned that I officially got a job at the children’s hospital in Seattle.”

The oval breaks out into a round of applause, and Charlotte’s cheeks burn bright red. Otto flashes her two thumbs up. He knew that she would face a lot of difficulties in her near future - raising a baby and working was difficult, and he and Luann were quickly finding that out. But from what he knew about the girl, she would be alright. She was headstrong on her good days, and stubborn as a mule on her worst. Both she and the kid would be alright. 

It’s obvious that it’s Victoria’s turn now. She had been joined at the bonfire by a tall girl with bright green dye in her pixie cut hair, and a variety of piercings and tattoos on her face and body. It was no secret that everyone was eager to find out who this mystery girl was - including Otto, and he didn’t know Victoria much beyond what Charlotte told him about her.

She was respectfully waits for all the applause to fizzle out before beginning.

“I’m Victoria and this is my girlfriend, Corin. This is my son, Perseus - who is three. My daughter, Pandora, who’s one. And my step daughter, Lola, who is two,” she introduces, her voice quiet. 

Otto is shocked at how right Jordan was. Perseus and Pandora look nothing alike - except for maybe the same smattering of freckles across the bridge of their nose, and the same mouth shape, but that’s obviously from Victoria. 

Perseus has a mop of messy champagne blonde hair, and shining viridescent eyes whilst Pandora has wavy mahogany brown locks - with blunt bangs hanging directly above her eyebrows - that are particularly long for her age and slate colored eyes. Neither of them look like they could ever possibly be siblings.

Victoria inhales deeply before continuing. “After tonight, I’m taking Perseus and Pandora to the local orphanage.”

There are gasps of shock around the oval, and murmurs of dissent from the Tragers. Victoria’s face turns several shades of vermillion before she proceeds. 

“I didn’t want to tell anyone because I didn’t want to be the one to ruin the celebrations but I have the paperwork in the car and everything. I’m giving them up for adoption,” Victoria repeats, and it looks as if she’d been holding that secret in for a lifetime. She seems relieved to say it, and Otto supposes he’s glad she’s able to get it off her chest. “I just can’t do it. I was forced to raised them because Nick is one crazy motherfucker and he would’ve killed me if I tried to abort either of his friend’s  _ seedlings  _ but now that he’s dead? I’m free, and I won’t raise his friend’s bastard spawn. I  _ can’t _ . I can’t look them in the eyes every day and mother them proper. I feel nothing but a burning hatred for those children - a loathing that I can’t escape. I need to get rid of them.”

“You can’t just let strangers raise them,” Tig tries to reason, reaching across to place his across hers. “They won’t understand why these children are the way they are.”

“I don’t care! That’s the orphanage’s problem. Not mine - not anymore,” Victoria says, her voice passionless and stony.

Otto bites his bottom lip, and suddenly he can’t take bystanding quietly any longer. The Trager bloodline treated children so poorly that he’s not surprised it didn’t die with Nick and Tracy. Of course someone had to continue the tradition of maltreatment - it just happened to be Victoria that would be another neglectful mother.

He opens his mouth to tell Victoria, but Luann surprises him by blurting out, “We’ll take them off your hands.”

Suddenly, all eyes are on him and his wife. He turns to her to see if she’s serious, and he’s surprised to find that she is - completely. There’s not a hint of a smirk on her lips, and she’s now holding Atlas close to her chest as if he’s a lifeline - as if Victoria was trying to take him away as well. Her cerulean eyes are smoldering as they stare down Victoria, and Otto feels a swell of pride in his chest.

“We’ll take them,” his wife repeats. “Both of them. If I have to stop working to raise them, I will - I don’t care. You have the paperwork?”

“Y-yes,” Victoria stutters, rising to her feet. “I can go get it right now, if you like? They can leave with you tonight.”

“Let’s do it,” Otto croaks, suddenly finding his voice. Luann looks to him, her eyes shining and he leans down to kiss her passionately before continuing. “If this is what you want, baby, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

**“Alright,” says Luann, grinning broadly at the two children sitting in front of Victoria and Corin. “Let’s get that paperwork signed.” **


End file.
